Crystal Souls: The Unofficial Novelization
by CVPOTA
Summary: Based on the awardwinning Exile and Avernum series. A ragtag group of mercenaries got stuck between rock, rivers, and a nasty magical barrier, forcing them into a journey that could impact an epic war. Or lead to certain death. It was hard to tell.
1. Foreward

Foreward:

To You, the reader:

I'd like to start off this project with a disclaimer:  
This world is not my own.  
Obviously, there is a reason why I'm calling this the Unofficial Novelization.

Exile and the Nation of Avernum, Erika, the Slithzerikai, Garzahd, the Vahnatai, and virtually every other element presented are the creation of Jeff Vogel, of Spiderweb Software: an independent gaming company. The worlds, the people, the first names of the members of the party, and the majority of the plot belong to him. He created the Exile Trilogy, and Blades of Exile, which are low-tech turn-based RPGs. These games were later remade on a different engine, and called Avernum.  
I would give the website, but this host site removes all hyperlinks.

This project was begun as a minor characterization exercise. Keeping in the spirit of that intent, I have only kept what I consider essential or relevant elements of the game's original plot, while twisting some areas to fit my characters' needs. To fill in the holes and find the differences, you will have to play the game yourself. I'm not letting on.

I began this journey over four years ago, working my creative muscles on a small but wonderful and engaging game that I had found in a shareware CD. Since that time, the characters that I created blossomed and evolved in ways that I could never have predicted. I had been writing on and off for about two years before I was introduced to a few months ago. Since then, forces in my life have compelled me to engage in a complete revamping of character, plot, and narrative structure. Therefore, I will warn you that this story is evolving even as I post it; and the posting will be a bit sporadic, I'm afraid.

I would also like to state that I am fully aware of Zizak-Tel's series _Seeking the Light of the Sun_. I am making a point not to read it until long after I am finished here.

This story is based on Exile (Avernum) II, after the escape from the Pit. As is done in the Exile/Avernum fan community, when in doubt, I have referred to Exile. Except, of course, where I simply like Avernum's data more.

Special thanks to the Spiderweb Software fan and forum communities, especially the Blades community, and the Encyclopedia Ermariana for their brilliant background support.

And my thanks to this host site for hosting. Even if they insist on removing references to them from my text.

Enjoy.

- R. Cook  
3/29/06


	2. Prologue: I

This is the Prologue to the Crystal Souls.  
It speaks of that which happened before.

I

Erika Redmark sat at her library window, staring at the river, carefully considering Time and Fate. Time: The Past, the Present, the Future, all coalesced into one easy-to-manage word. Fate: that overarching force which decides the end from the beginning.

If only it were so simple. Time was more than just three frames of reference, more than a measurement of endurance. Time and Fate were intertwined in a relative world of cause and effect, the action, and reaction, where time was both the governor and the key mechanism of Fate, as well the plaything of Luck.

Erika pondered both Time and Fate, partially because they were things that needed to be considered, and partially to simply pass time as she waited.

The adventurers had little time left, if any at all. If they weren't already dead. The path to their target was clear enough, but the obstacles were great.

No, she would know if they were dead. She would know if their prey was dead, too. She had seen to that. As she teleported them away, she had linked a magical signal to the brooches that they wore. If any of them died, she would know. And none had perished yet.

But despite this one comforting fact, they were low on time. Garzahd would detect her work soon enough, and attempt to dispatch her warriors. She had reminded them time and time again that speed, not stealth, was of the essence. The blow was to be fast and hard. No doubts. The adventurers had claimed to understand. No, no doubts. They did understand that speed was necessary, that much was obvious. They had been as anxious as she about getting this assassination done. But they did not fully understand the implications of time upon their mission. The Fate of the known world hung in the balance: a fate resting on the pinnacle of swift timing.

But their understanding of this fate did not matter, so long as the job was done and the swine dead. They were off, mutilating the Imperial Guard; and she was left in safety, waiting for the magical trigger to activate in time for her to bring them back to safety.

She sat in safety, contemplating Time, and the fate of the known world.

Once the adventurers were finished their attack on the surface, there would only be so much time before the caves of Avernum would feel the repercussions. Conflict with the Empire was inevitable, this was a lesson learned simply by encountering the Empire, let alone by spending thirty years living in it.

Erika allowed herself a brief smile, something she seldom did anymore, at the thought of Hawthorne's pending death. Yes, revenge would be sweet. The era of perfection, the era of the Empire, was about to end. The era of revolution: the era of the Exiles would rise to take its place. There would be change, even temporary chaos, but justice would prevail. Justice always eventually prevailed: it was the way of nature and the way of Fate. That which could not be destroyed from the outside could always be destroyed from the inside. Fate always got what it wanted.

Erika dropped the smile. Micah and his close-minded bureaucrats might not understand how Time and Fate would work together to their advantage, but work they would. Luck favored the bold. Fate favored the Just. Time favored the patient. None favored the lazy, nor the ignorant. Nor pompous beaurocrats sitting in padded chairs miles and miles above her, above ground, meddling with the lives of many. Lives such as hers, the damn fools. They would pay. They would be eaten alive by their greed and corruption. So would Micah and his Council of Cities, if they did not pay attention.

But they would, Fate demanded that they must, or at least that someone must. The world was not destined for chaos, Fate declared: there was a purpose! An end! All would balance and right would prevail, that was why it was right!

Erika sat on the brink of epiphany, searching for a conclusion to her thoughts

The damned adventurers were running out of time!

There was a sudden disturbance in the ether. Erika snapped into a standing position as if yanked from her chair. The magical signal that she had imbued into the brooches had been triggered by Hawthorne's proximity. It was time to return to work.

She allowed herself another brief smile as she began the summoning ritual. In a matter of moments, a portal would link the brooches that the adventurers wore to a specially designed rune, set up in the library. Once their task was complete, they would be returned to Avernum, safe, sound, and victorious.

Luck favors the bold. Fate favors the Just. Erika's patience had finally come to fruition.

Thus begins a new age.


	3. Prologue: II

II

"You heard me! South tower steps! Flush them out!"

Six Royal Guard clattered down the hall as Commander Vlish screeched orders. "Where are the Battle Mages? Why the hell aren't they up there yet?"

A tall soldier emerged from a service portal. "There's no sign of them downstairs. They must be headed upstairs already."

"No shi - Really!" Vlish caught himself before cursing in uniform. "Get the Imperials on the upper levels! I want to force the intruders back down."

"Aye, Commander!" The soldier vanished back inside the portal.

Vlish cursed under his breath. The biggest damn security breach in Empire history, and it had to be on the only day he had ever commanded the night guard.

A young man in purple robes emerged from the security portal.

"Takos, where the hell have you been?" Vlish growled.

"That is no way to address the Royal Councilor," Takos replied in his usual drawl.

Vlish cursed again for forgetting the minor detail of his former comrade's hour-old appointment.

"I have just come from the Royal Suite, upstairs. We are to move the base of operations to the throne room immediately. This is an assassination attempt."

Vlish shouted louder to prevent himself from cursing in front of a superior. "Any rookie fresh from the academy can tell this is an assassination attempt!"

"The Emperor does not want his life to be at stake and has instructed us to create a strong defense in the Throne Room," Takos advised.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe we should simply relocate the Emperor?"

Takos snickered. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe Hawthorne wishes to remain in his throne room as an act of defiance? If you hurry, I will not report this act of insolence."

Damn insolence, Vlish thought. Damn you for becoming high-and-mighty Royal Counselor. Damn Hawthorne for never having fought outside of a practice arena for a day of his life. "Fine. Emperor's orders, right?"

A soldier emerged from a service portal. "You called for me, Commander?"

Vlish thanked whatever deity might be for some actual progress. "Captain deBain, I need every Imperial Elite that you can get your hands on upstairs in the main throne room, five minutes ago!"

"Aye, commander," the captain acknowledged. "Anything else?"

"Get back here the instant you finish conveying those orders. I need a calm mind to help me deal with the _beaurocrats_." Vlish articulated the last word as if it were laced with poison. The instant that the captain returned to the portal, he returned his attention to the impatient Takos. "I suppose you have some idea of how I can convey orders to every unit in the Imperial Tower from some place other than the command room?"

Takos looked appalled. "Do you seriously need to coordinate everyone?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Ashort, fat man in banquet regalia had emerged from the northern stairway.

Vlish cursed again. Just what he needed on a night like this: more pompous idiots. "General Limoncelli, I was discussing the wisdom of changing our base of operations with the Royal Councilor."

"What the hell do you want to do that for?" Limoncelli demanded. It was clear that the man was slightly intoxicated.

"I don't, sir," Vlish stated.

"The Emperor demands it," Takos drawled.

Captain deBain emerged from a service portal. "Commander, a group of Royal Guard encountered the intruders on the seventh level. There appear to only be four of them. The Guard are in pursuit," he reported. "Orders sir?"

Vlish digested the information. Four people. Four people causing this much destruction? Dammit! Seventh level! "Captain, send the Elite down the south side from the throne room right now! If the Guard don't stop them, our intruders are going to need to have something between them and the Emperor!"

Limoncelli scowled, something he did rather well. "Why the hell won't Hawthorne just set up an ambush? Attack from all sides? If there's only four of them, troops on all sides would easily divide their attention."

"We aren't sure where they are, and the halls aren't wide enough for a standard ambush, Sir," deBain supplied before Vlish could respond. "Commander, if we could send a group to lie in wait on the eighth or ninthfloor, we may be able to stall them long enough to set up an attack force."

Takos seemed offended. "Captain, I don't believe-"

Limoncelli cut him off. "Interesting perspective, Lonny, but now is not the time to leave standard procedure. Vlish, it's your call."

"Lon, I just-" Vlish began.

"A massive force at the top will crush them!" Takos declared.

"But you must consider their style of attack," Limoncelli pointed out, slurring slightly.

"Would you both shut up?" A gravelly new voice joined the chorus.

The soldiers and beaurocrats alike turned to regard and salute the newcomer, a short, broadly built man with a long black beard.

"My apologies, Lord Garzahd," Takos drawled. "I was just instructing the commander-"

The short man cut him off. "Takos, even though you got close enough to myself and the Emperor to get promoted, it does not mean that you are at all competent." He regarded Vlish. "Commander, I'm taking over the defense. Get your Elites to the throne room. Take some of the battle mages with you. The Emperor has decided that you will be in charge of the final line of defense. I will lead an assault from the rear. And we shall crush them between us. " Vlish hesitated. "Now, Commander!"

Vlish saluted and rushed for the service portal.

"Thank you, Garzahd," Limoncelli chuckled.

"Keller, you're drunk," Garzahd snapped. "Captain!"

"Sir!" deBain saluted.

"Escort the general to a safe location outside of the tower complex. Keller, you'll be much more use to us sober."

"Yes sir!" deBain confirmed.

"Now, Garzahd-" Limoncelli objected.

Wham!A metal object crashed to the floor.

Garzahd, Limoncelli, and Captain deBain wheeled to the source of the crash: the door of a washroom adjacent to the command room. Some poor intoxicated fool had stumbled out of the washroom and spilled a platter of fine rolls onto the floor.

"What the hell is all the yelling about?" The newcomer murmured, trying to regain his balance.

"Jen?" deBain blurted, recognizing the man.

"Nephardia?" Limoncelli and Garzahd simultaneously realized.

"Oh. Hi Lonny," the man slurred. "And Grump-zahd."

Limoncelli scowled. "Nephardia, I always knew you'd end up drunk in a-"

Garzahd cut him off. "Enough! This isno time for insults. Captain, get them both out of here. Takos, you're with me."

Garzahd turned on his heels and entered the service portal, Takos trailing inches behind.


	4. Prologue: III

III

There were fourteen of them. Ten Imperial Elites: the best melee men that the Guard could offer, two Imperial Archers: among the most reliable marksmen in Pralgad, Commander Vlish: decorated Dervish and Imperial Bodyguard, and Hawthorne III himself: ruler of the Four Continents, High Monarch of the Empire. The Imperial Throne Room had been designed for private audiences, and being on the highest floor of the Tower, it was also the smallest major room in the complex. It could, however, fit all of them and then some with much comfort.

Hawthorne sat on his throne, facing the main doorway, which was currently sealed. Hawthorne was defended by a shield of magic, and enchantment by Garzahd, no doubt, which was supposed to render him immune to any form of attack. Vlish stood positioned next to him so as to prevent any standard form of attack to reach him nonetheless, and the archers flanked the two them like bishops in a live game of chess in order to prevent anyone from reaching Vlish, just in case. The Elites flanked the carpet that lead to the throne, five to a side.

The men were nervous; Vlish could sense it. They damn well had a right to be. Where the hell was Garzahd? Still dealing with Limoncelli? No, he wouldn't take that much of a risk. And where were the battle mages? Why the hell could no one find anyone? Oh, gods, the greatest security breach in history, and they had to defend the Emperor himself with no mages and only two archers.

This was asking for trouble. Simply asking for it.

Hawthorne cracked his knuckles. "Is this all, Commander?"

"It appears so, your Highness."

"Oh." The Emperor seemed somewhat disappointed.

"There is still a Gala going on downstairs, your Highness."

"Yes, I know. I simply thought that the more men we had up here, the sooner we could return to the party."

"Garzahd is coming from the rear, your Highness."

Hawthorne cracked his knuckles again, examining the magical shielding as its psychedelic color swirled around his hands.

"Permission to speak freely, your highness?" Oh, gods, Vlish, why did you just say that?

"Go ahead, Commander."

"You do realize that coming up here was entirely unnecessary?"

"I realize that the intruders came to meet me face to face. I shall not deny them that honor. I shall merely deny them the chance to tell anyone about it."

Vlish fought back the strong urge to tell the Emperor that he was making a huge tactical mistake; but one did not come to where he was by contradicting one's superiors. "If that is your will, your Majesty."

There was a stirring down the hall. A door opened. There were sounds of a scuffle, of blades clashing and metal tearing flesh.

Vlish drew his sword. Taking his cue, the Elite lining the entryway to the Great Throne Room drew their own weapons.

"Men, the objective is simple. No one comes near the Emperor. Period. Be ready."

The sounds of struggle in the hall abruptly stopped.

"Hold steady," Vlish commanded, waiting for the proverbial pin to drop.

THUD.

Someone was ramming the throne room double-doors.

THUD.

"Keep holding," Vlish said.

Hawthorne cracked his knuckles.

THUD.

"Phil!" Someone outside was calling someone's name.

THUD.

"Phil!" The person shouted again.

"What?" Phil, apparently, responded.

THUD.

"Maintain hold," Vlish ordered.

"They open out." The first speaker said.

"Oh. Yeah."

"Hold!" Vlish barked, noticing two of the men starting to waver.

One of the doors cracked open. "Yep, this is it," someone else said.

Eyes flew to Vlish. He kept his gaze on the doorway.

The doors flew open and a huge mass of shining armor charged straight through toward the throne.

"Now!"

The Elites fell into an organized two-line formation, effectively blocking off the large, bulking intruder's path to the Emperor. Which, apparently, was what the intruders wanted, because the Elites' flanks were immediately attacked with a combination of spells and missiles. Three other intruders fell into line behind the Juggernaut in armor: two women in plate mail and a man wearing mage robes.

And that was all.

Gods, there were indeed only _four_.

The mage threw a fireball over the heads of the Elites. Vlish positioned himself in front of the Emperor, but Hawthorne shoved Vlish aside.

"Out of the way, Commander! I'll handle this myself!" Hawthorne waved his hand and the fireball vanished. "Come, I shall teach you all respect!" he shouted above the ruckus of clinking armor and clashing blades. He summoned a fireball of his own and threw it over the shoulders of the Elites. The blast flew high, whistling through the doorway and setting carpet ablaze in the hallway. The mage appeared to take the Emperor's actions as a personal challenge, and sent a volley of flaming arrows back at them. Those that were actually a threat were easily blocked by Vlish's shield or absorbed into the Emperor's magical protection.

"Hait, Weaver," Vlish instructed the archers, "Aim for the robes." He watched the front line in amazement. It was working! It was actually working! The wall of Elites was quickly pushing the intruders back through the door into the hall!

One of the archers gasped in pain as he was impaled through the stomach, armor and all, by a two-foot long spike of ice. The other suddenly shrieked as frost began to flow up his legs from the very ground. Vlish barely managed to get his shield up in time to block a flaming arrow with his shield. The arrow exploded on impact, throwing Vlish to his knees. Hawthorne used the energy of the explosion to create another fireball, and hurled it at the woman with the bow and arrows. The archer took the blow fully in the chest, but somehow, somehow, the fire was absorbed into her armor.

Vlish suddenly realized that the withdrawal had not been caused by overwhelming force. The Juggernaut was now somehow single-handedly keeping the entire force of Elites at bay at the mouth of the hallway as the other three showered the room with missiles and spells. They promptly put the impaled archer out of his misery and rendered the other unconscious with a vicious wave of elemental attacks.

"Commander," Hawthorne had risen to stand in front of the throne. "I'll stay here. Get them."

What? No, no, "No, your Highness."

"Don't you understand? I'm invincible!"

"I do not leave your side, your Highness." Vlish yelled back, catching another arrow on his shield. "Keep it up, men!" He yelled forward. "We just have to hold them!"

There were shouts of alarm as a ball of glowing green and yellow flame flew over the line of Elites, some bad reaction of a misfired scroll with the already unstable magical energy in the air. Flying toward the most powerful source of magic in the room. Flying toward Hawthorne and his shield of energy.

Hawthorne had no chance to counterspell; Vlish lunged to take the blow for his monarch, but too late. The fireball collided with the Emperor at full force, throwing him through the back of the throne with a crash of splintering wood and the shriek of twisting metal.

Vlish landed on his stomach and sprang to his feet, sword at the ready. The Elites, who had all gone to ground at the formation of the fireball, leapt back into their defensive wall. The intruders, who had also dropped to the floor in alarm, renewed their attack with impressive fury; the mage having taken advantage of the lull to cast several Haste spells. Hawthorne pulled himself from the rubble of the Imperial Throne and stood, unscathed. The shielding had completely absorbed the blow.

"Is that all you can do?" The Emperor was laughing. "Is that really all you can-"

A single arrow flew past the side of a soldier in the front line, a miss.

Vlish could only watch as the arrow hit the side of the table and cartwheeled over it, over the remnants of the throne, and directly into the Emperor's gold-laced boot.

And Emperor Hawthorne exploded.

There was no other way to describe it; the magic barrier surrounding the Emperor destabilized from its rainbow shimmer to a bright white glare which promptly expanded, collapsed, and shattered in a spectrum of energy that consumed the Emperor, what was left of the throne, and part of the table with it.

And there was nothing left.

Nothing.

Vlish looked on, staring in shock at the blackened pile of dust that was his monarch, his charge, his duty.

A magic portal ripped open through the fabric of space in a corner of the room, tearing several soldiers apart in the process.

There was shouting and general chaos as the Juggernaut threw soldiers to the floor, plowing a path. Several loud thuds impacted around him. Thuds from fire that flew from behind the intruders. There was blood, blood, so much blood and loud pounding. Pounding, pounding, of the world closing in around him; of his own heartbeat beating accusingly at him.

You failed, Vlish. Failure. Traitor. Failure. Failure. You call yourself a soldier? Traitor.

There were new voices now, but Vlish could not understand them through the ringing in his ears.

Vlish charged the portal in blind fury and fear; screaming, so that he could block out the pounding. He joined the throng, focusing on the Archer, making her his target. It was her Arrow; she would suffer for the damage her Arrow had done. There were flashes of heat, of cold, of sharp ice, as the Mage protected his ally. The other woman, the Healer, shouted something and something hard caught Vlish in the soft of his gut, through his armor. Vlish fought it and slashed at them, taking no regard for the energy or the blood surrounding him.

There was a flash. Vlish and his companions were again thrown to the floor as raw energy rushed past them, cracking the imported marble floor and sealing the rip in reality.

Vlish blinked. The portal was gone. The intruders were gone.

There were those new voices again: hurried, upset voices. Several people were cursing and swearing, even in uniform.

"Commander?" A familiar, gravelly voice beckoned Vlish to concentrate.

Battered, and, he suddenly realized, bleeding from several wounds, Vlish forced himself to stand and face Garzahd. The Archwizard locked eyes with him, confirming and reinforcing the grim truth.

It was over. And Hawthorne had lost.


	5. Prologue: IV

IV

There once was a large church; and once, long ago, many supporters of the church banded together and presented a huge gift of funding to the church. This funding was seized by the local government and mishandled and panhandled in ways that only governments and bureaucracies can treat holy money. The people became angry with the government and threatened civil revolt. The government, realizing that God might just be a good ally, gave the money back, and as an act of apology built a magnificent temple in its capital city. In this temple, there were rooms; and many years later, a priest of the order of this Temple's order lodged in one of these rooms. One night, this priest found himself praying.

"But why?"

This priest did not pray in the manner of his brethren: instead of talking to his God in supplication and estranged praise, he preferred to speak with his God as a peer. God seemed to like it that way, and would constantly respond.

Or at least, the priest sometimes acknowledged, it surely seemed like responding. It was no audible voice or visions, but the simple return of thought.

And the priest was not liking this particular night's conversation.

-Because I may not want it that way-

"I don't understand. You have given us a great power and amazing artifact. Why should we not yet use it?"

-To those who are given much, much will be expected-

"And we expect to do much."

-With great power comes great responsibility-

"What, you think that we won't use it properly?"

-Eye has not seen…-

"You're quoting yourself out of context."

-Am I?-

The priest paused, considering the passage momentarily. He eventually dismissed it as irrelevant to the real issue.

"So you've given us power, but we aren't allowed to use it yet, because you think that we'll misuse it?"

-Perhaps it is not yet time for its use-

"Then why give it so soon? Some other person might take it and misuse it."

-With great power comes great responsibility-

"So you said."

-All will be accountable to God in the end-

"So those that misuse power are judged."

-With great power comes great responsibility-

"Or are you saying that someone who takes on the power takes on the responsibility to use it properly? And that those who misuse the power that they have taken on will eventually pay?"

-With great power comes great responsibility-

"You know us to be responsible!"

But God seemed to think that the conversation was over.

Frustrated with His confusing answers, the priest rose from his prayer mat and gazed out of his window, toward the vista view of the Imperial Tower.

It was rather odd, but in that night's lighting, the moon appeared as red as blood as it passed behind the Tower.

Odd, but no matter. It was only the moon.

"And God save the Emperor," the priest briskly added, as the line was required by the rule of his Order.

-----

Thus ends the Prologue to the Crystal Souls.


	6. Barriers: I

This is the First Chapter of the Crystal Souls:

It speaks of the barriers.

* * *

I

Archwizard Garzahd sits upon a throne of ebony and gold, overseeing powers and principalities. His dark gaze pierces the darkness and into my soul.

Greetings, Dark One.

His mouth does not move as he speaks these words to my mind. His eyes, cold, blue, and unblinking burn through the swirling fog between us, locking only with my own. I cannot speak; and knowing this, I do not try as I once did. Garzahd controls the dream, as he has always controlled the dream.

It would be nice if he changed the setting. Or at least, the introductory message. "I have need of your services…" Give me a break, would it really be too difficult to switch things up?

I have need of your services in these dark times. Behold, there is a matter that requires your immediate attention.

And now comes the interesting part.

As you know, this war has begun to take its toll among our soldiers. We are winning, but morale is low and tempers are high, for all of us. Our tactics are not getting us as far as we anticipated. We require fresh perspective and new strategy.

To the point, Grumpy; I'm gonna oversleep if you keep this up.

I realize that the past few years have been difficult for you; and hope that you understand that we exiled you in preparation for this invasion as an act of subterfuge.

Sure. Whatever.

This is your official recall. Report to Fort Dolthar on the isle of Sss-Thsss. Keller will be there, waiting for you. You will need a Red Pass and passage on a boat I do not care how you acquire them. The following is what you will need to know.

As always, I witness a series of various ideas and images that Garzahd thinks that I need to know: a red scroll, covered with writing and official seals; a pillar of rock rising out of an island in the middle of a large lake; a map image of the location of that island; a warning to approach from the south in secret, and to beware of nagas.

Of course. There would be nagas. This is Garzahd.

The images fade to again present the throne of ebony and gold suspended in darkness with armies at its feet.

Your mission is assigned, Darkblade. Good luck.


End file.
